


falling in love (is hard on the knees)

by TheResurrectionist



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Loss, Bruce "I'll admit I need help when I'm dead" Wayne, Fainting, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, Protective Clark Kent, Secret Identity, Stubborn Bruce Wayne, SuperBat, The author cannot tag, Whump, hal jordan burn session
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 07:50:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15408390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheResurrectionist/pseuds/TheResurrectionist
Summary: Secretly, somewhere deep, deep down--beneath the layers of animosity, sarcastic humor, and the hardened shell of a personality he called a secret identity--Bruce Wayne definitely wanted Superman to rip his clothes off.But not like this.





	falling in love (is hard on the knees)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Batwayneman, as always, for putting up with me screaming about this idea for >a month.

 “I don’t know whether to hit you, or stab you again.”

Bruce choked out a laugh, accepting Leslie’s help as he lowered himself onto the exam table. He bit off a groan as his head hit the cool metal, bouncing slightly. The burning, gnawing pain in his side came into focus again, sending fire racing down his spine.

“Can it wait until after the stitches?” he asked, breathless as another wave of pain wracked through his side. “And--painkillers.”

“Hmm.”

Leslie snapped a pair of gloves on, digging in without any foreplay. His armor was stripped away, the remaining pieces cut quickly with industrial shears. He felt her fingers inside the edges of the wound, focusing on the frown line between her eyes as his vision went briefly fuzzy.

He could hear Alfred somewhere in the Cave behind him, completely unruffled as he ordered Dick and Jason to clear the medbay. Boxes shifted to his left, clearing space for the exam table to be rolled over.

“No pneumothorax,” Leslie murmured above him, reaching for the suture kit. “It hit subcutaneous fat and muscle on the way in. Painful, but you’ll live. Your new armor is something special, Wayne.”

It was high praise, coming from her. Bruce grimaced as she threaded the needle through its first loop, refusing to ask for anesthetic. “I’ll be sure to give Lucius your regards.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Wayne,” she said, gesturing with the bloodied needle. “One of these days, you’re going to have that one in a million hit between the pieces, and I’ll be sewing your liver back together on this table.” Leslie shook her head. “Ridiculous.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Alfred said, from the head of the exam table. “Leslie, dear, whenever you’re ready--”

“Of course,” she murmured, completely focused on her stitching. The fingers of her gloves were stained bright red. Bruce hissed as the needle went deeper than before. The sound didn’t escape Leslie. “Oh, did that hurt?”

Bruce glared at the side of her head, taking the jab--literally--in silence. When Leslie had finished, she wrapped the wound in a bulky gauze pad, winding it tightly around his side. With a gesture, Jason and Dick came running.

“All clear,” she said, snapping off her gloves with a flourish. “It only looked nasty. Wheel him over to the medbay. I’m sure he’ll be at that damn computer in a few hours anyway.”

Dick squeezed his shoulder as they pushed the exam table toward the far wall. Jason was snickering quietly at Leslie’s words, a hint of relief in the way his shoulders relaxed, ever so slightly.

Alfred was waiting at the medbay for them. Bruce’s JL communicator was in his hand, beeping urgently. The butler set it down on the bedside table as Jason and Dick helped Bruce onto the cot.

“Apologies for the intrusion sir, but Superman seems determined to reach you.” Alfred paused as the communicator produced another round of beeping. “An emergency beacon was set off some time ago--”

“I’ll take it.” Bruce said, grinning weakly as Jason and Dick made a show of fluffing his pillows. “Upstairs.” he said when they’d finished, well-aware they were stalling. “Homework. Then bed. Understood?”

“Sure thing.” Dick said, looking a little strained at the sudden shift in subject. He glanced at the communicator. “Please don’t die anytime soon.”

“ _I_ _hate it when he gets stab wounds,”_ Jason muttered as they walked towards the stairs. _“He’s always so grumpy_.”

_“Yeah yeah yeah…"_

Alfred nodded, sending him a very pointed _look_ as he joined Leslie by the far wall. Bruce picked up the communicator, depressing the button on the side.

“This is Batman.”

“Superman to Batman,” Clark’s voice came on the channel instantly, sounding flustered. “We’ve been trying to contact you for almost an hour. Why weren’t you answering your comm?”

“I was busy.” Bruce said, pausing. His eyes narrowed as he heard something close to a sigh. “What’s the emergency?”

“The treaty Green Lantern negotiated with the Klemarians last week fell through. We’ve got a possible full-scale invasion on our hands.” Clark cut off, agitated. “Diana and I are requesting all full-time and reserve members report to the Watchtower immediately.”

“I can’t.” Bruce said, glancing down at the bandage at his right hip. “I have...on-world business I have to attend to.”

Across the room, Alfred wasn’t even pretending not to eavesdrop. He sent Bruce another pointed stare, a bottle of pills in his left hand.

“I understand you have Gotham,” Clark’s voice came out strained, like he was forcing the words out between clenched teeth. “But this is an _emergency_.”

Bruce bit down on the response he’d been about to give, fist clenching around the communicator. The plastic creaked as he chose his words carefully. “I’m...indisposed.”

There was a brief silence. He could almost hear Clark’s teeth grinding.

“We need you,” he said, haltingly, “This one isn’t something you can sit out again. This is more than a League commitment. Do you understand that?”

Bruce’s eyes closed. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. After a moment, he pressed the button again.

“I’ll be at the Watchtower soon. Have a zeta ready.”

“Good,” was all Clark said. “Superman out.”

Bruce let his hand fall to his side, exhaling through his nose. Alfred appeared at his side, unscrewing the pill bottle Leslie had left him.

“I’m fine,” he said, waving off the butler. “Just get me some Advil.”

“That isn’t exactly a scratch, Master Wayne,” Alfred dropped a pair of pills in his palm, screwing the lid back on. “I’ll find some water--”

Bruce set the pills on the bedside table, pushing the covers back from his legs. Alfred’s hand was at his shoulder instantly, pressing him back into the pillows.

“What on _earth_ are you doing?”

“There’s an emergency. Superman needs me at the Watchtower.” Bruce slid his legs over the edge of the bed, his vision going red as the stitches on his hip pulled. “Get the suit ready.”

“You’re in no condition to--”

“The  _suit,_ ” Bruce gasped, pushing up from the bedrail until he was upright. “Please.”

Alfred met his gaze, considering. After a moment, he folded his hands.

“One of the pills to take the edge off,” he said, nodding at the bedside table. “I’ll find a bandage you can move in.”

The second he was out of sight, Bruce sat on the cot, his hands shaking against the bedspread. His side ached with every breath.

 _How bad can an intergalactic emergency_ be, _anyway?_

* * *

“--waiting for a secondary transmission from the Klemarian array--”

Bruce pushed open the conference room doors, striding towards the end of the table. He could feel the gazes of the League on his back, knowing Clark’s was one of them. Only J’onn looked happy to see him, if he was reading the blank expression on the alien’s face correctly.

Fire raced up his side, blooming into sickly nausea under his skin. He took his seat, not bothering to provide an explanation for his tardiness.

“Batman,” Superman said, pausing at the front of the room. He tilted his head, mouth tight. “Thank you for joining us.”

Green Lantern snickered. Black Canary elbowed him, rolling her eyes at Green Arrow. Diana tapped the table, impatient in her seat at Clark’s left.

“Please continue, Kal.”

Bruce met Clark’s eyes, marvelling at the intensity. The half-pill he’d taken gave his vision a feverish tint, though it did little to numb the pain in his side.

“R-right,” Clark cleared his throat, frowning briefly in his direction. The Kryptonian returned to the screen he’d been gesturing at, still staring at Bruce. “As I was saying, the Klemarian array is sending out a signal that we believe has reached another system--”

The second the eyes in the room were off him, Clark’s words blurred into white noise. Blood rushed in his ears, perfectly in-tempo with the throbbing he could feel in his side. Every heartbeat was agony, impossible to ignore.

He bit down hard and saw Clark’s gaze flick to his lips, momentarily distracted.

“Batman?”

He shook out of his daze, realizing Diana had been calling him. “Sorry?”

“Kal asked what you thought of the negotiation plan Green Lantern drew up,” the Amazon narrowed her eyes, “Well?”

Bruce scanned the screen quickly, fumbling for an answer. His tongue felt heavy as he cleared his throat. “Ineffective. The Klemarians wouldn’t negotiate for territory in that belt. They evacuated from there three centuries ago. Why would they want to go back?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow to his left, impressed. Across the table, Hal Jordan sent him a vicious glare, his jaw clenching. Bruce ignored him, keeping his expression carefully blank.

Diana accepted his input with a purse of her lips, turning back to Superman. “Kal?”

“How would you suggest we do it, then?” Clark asked, with the tone of a teacher who knew his student hadn’t been paying attention--the kind of _gotcha_ sing-songy intonation that set his teeth on edge.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, affronted. He stood, pressing a casual hand to the table to keep his knees from buckling. “I didn’t realize I was your space policy expert. I thought that was what we had Lanterns for.”

This time, both Jordan and Kent were glaring at him. The room spun briefly, making their heads swell and deflate. He swallowed bile, willing his stomach to settle as the burning in his side increased. He had twenty, maybe thirty seconds before the mask he’d constructed began to crack.

“Where are you going?” Hal Jordan asked, slamming his hand on the table. “Meeting’s not over yet, asshole!”

Bruce started heading towards the door, focusing intently on each step. “Some people have better things to do than ruin treaties with moronic, ill-informed bargaining, Jordan.”

“Wow, that was a lot of syllables! _Someone’s_ smart--”

“GIve them the water planet with the three oil moons,” Bruce muttered to Diana, pausing at the door. “Anyone who’s even _glanced_ at the Klemarian file knows that’s what they wanted the whole time, anyways.”

He ducked Clark’s burning gaze and pushed through the doors, leaving the League silent behind him.

* * *

He got as far as the second hallway before the burning in his side made it too painful to move. With a grunt, he pulled himself around the corner, leaning heavily against the wall as he caught his breath.

“ _F-fuck--_ ”

If he could drag himself the last few feet to the zeta, then it would only be a matter of minutes before he could get down to the Cave. Alfred would be furious--but it was Leslie he was truly afraid of. Ripping her stitches was practically a death sent--

“Batman.”

He flinched as Superman appeared at his side, pushing off the wall. He bit off a moan as his stitches pulled, his vision graying out at the edges. “S-Superman.”

The Kryptonian glanced briefly at his side, frowning. Shaking his head, Clark redirected his glare at Bruce’s jaw. “You can’t just _leave_ the meeting like that. Do you have any idea how important this is?”

“I’m well aware,” Bruce said, gritting his teeth as a wave of nausea wracked through him. “I did what I could--”

“Showing up and dressing down Hal isn’t _enough._ It’s rude and counterproductive, and if you were--”

The other man cut off, nostrils flaring. Clark glanced at his side again, then back to his face, like something had caught his attention. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a puzzled expression.

“Is that...blood?”

“No,” Bruce said, shifting. His hands had gone numb, tingling slightly under his gauntlets. “Now, if you’ll excuse me--”

As he turned to move, another wave of dizziness hit him. His knees buckled, sending him hurtling towards the ground faster than he could process.

A pair of arms were around him a half second before his head hit linoleum, stopping his sudden descent. He bit off a groan as the Clark’s forearm pressed against his stitches, sending a sickly pain through his chest.

“Jesus,” Clark was saying above him, “Batman. _Batman._ Are you alright?”

Bruce collapsed against the wall, pressing a hand to his side. His fingers came away sticky with blood, even with the armor.

“I’m calling a doctor.” Clark knelt in front of him, then seemed to realize the absence of pockets and--therefore--a cellphone. “Diana can--”

“Just get me to the zeta.” Bruce said, his voice soft--too soft for Batman. Almost too soft for Brucie Wayne, which was saying something. “I have...people.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not letting you zeta into some Gotham alley bleeding to death.”

Clark’s gaze was fierce; a dizzying, bright burning blue that finally focused his thoughts. There was a hint of guilt somewhere in there. God, but they were _expressive._

“B. Hey, B. Stay with me. I need you to tell me where you’re zetaing.”

He tilted his head back, hitting tile. “Not happening.”

“You idiot,” Clark said, standing. He loomed over Bruce, arms crossing. “If you won’t tell me--”

The rest of his words were lost as he teetered forward into unconsciousness.

* * *

 Bruce woke to the sound of his armor ripping.

He lifted his head up to find Clark at his side, carefully prying open the edges of his breastplate.

“You’re going to get shocked.”

“Already did.” The Kryptonian held up a blackened palm, then returned to his work. “Lie back. I called J’onn--”

Bruce ran his hand across his face, relieved when he found the cowl still in place. There was a dull throb at the base of his skull, almost like he’d hit it. It was possible. “You didn’t take off my mask,” he said weakly.

“No, why would I do that?” Clark asked, sending him a confused look. With a flick of his wrist, his armor split down the middle. The other man hissed when he saw his side--soaked in blood. “What the _hell,_ B?”

Secretly, somewhere deep, deep down--beneath the layers of animosity, sarcastic humor, and the hardened shell of a personality he called a secret identity--Bruce Wayne definitely wanted Superman to rip his clothes off.

But not like this.

He watched Clark’s head dip down, a curl slipping across his forehead as he examined the wound. Blue eyes found his a moment later, full of concern.

“How’s your head?”

“Never had any complaints.” Bruce said, before he remembered who he was playing.

The stunned look on Clark’s face was almost-- _almost_ \--worth the slip.

“You--you definitely have a concussion,” the other man spluttered, when he could speak again. There was a hint of red in his cheeks as he turned toward the door. “J’onn is almost here--”

“Put me in a zeta.”

Clark’s face hardened. His fist clenched at his side. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Bruce grasped the edge of the cot, gasping as he pushed to his feet. He wavered, ignoring Clark’s glare as he tried to balance himself. “Thanks for the invasive medical care, but this time I think I’ll pass--”

His knees gave out two steps across the room. Clark was there to catch him again, carefully guiding him to the floor.   

“I’m not going to pass out,” he mumbled, but his vision was narrowing again. He grasped Clark’s cape, struggling to form a thought. “I…”

“B,” Clark was saying above him, distant, “B, you need to--”

He fell forward into darkness again, Clark’s cape slipping from his hand.

* * *

This time, when he woke up, he could tell the bleeding had stopped.

J’onn’s face came into focus above him, backlit by the flourescent lights of the Watchtower medbay.

The alien watched him sit up with a look of mild disapproval--almost like he knew Bruce wouldn’t have listened to him, anyway. He handed him a small paper cup, brushing briefly against his mind.

“Pain medication.” J’onn glanced at the door. “Kal is very concerned for you. I would take them before he makes you.”

Bruce grabbed the cup, swallowing them wordlessly. He put a hand to his side, feeling a fresh set of bandages. He sent a mental wave of gratitude the alien’s way.

“You?”

“You’d lost a significant amount of blood by the time I arrived,” J’onn said, frowning, “Kal was about to transport you down to a human hospital. He was...distraught.”

Bruce glanced at the remains of his suit in the corner. “Ironic,” he muttered, looking away.

J’onn raised an eyebrow, ignoring his comment. He changed the topic quickly. “Despite how you phrased your recommendations to the League earlier, you’ll be gratified to hear the Klemarian negotiations were salvaged while you were...unconscious.”

“Great,” Bruce muttered, standing with only minimal pain. _God, Vicodin is amazing._ “If that’s all…”

“I believe Superman wanted to see you before you returned to Earth.”

Gathering the suit in his arms, Bruce turned for the door. “Good for him, I guess.” _two suits in one day, Jesus fucking--_

In the hallway, he could still feel J’onn’s disapproving stare. He walked quickly towards the Zeta tubes, grimacing as his new stitches pulled.

“Where are you going?”

Bruce picked up his pace, eyeing the Zeta dashboard. “Gotham.”

Clark’s hand came down on the panel, blocking his access. When Bruce finally looked up, it was to a furious pair of blue eyes.

“You’re injured.”

“Didn’t seem to matter earlier.”

“You didn’t _tell me_ you’d been stabbed!”

“I _told you_ I was  _indisposed_.” Bruce growled. “You made my participation in the League contingent upon showing up. So I showed. _Up_.”

Clark’s hand dropped from the panel, returning to his side. Bruce took the opportunity to punch in his code, ignoring the naked feeling of being armor-less with his back to someone more powerful than him.

When he was inside the tube, he looked back to the control panel. Clark was still standing there, watching him.

“You think I wouldn’t have come,” Bruce said, as the Zeta fired up. “Even if I was free. You think I don’t care about this League.”

Clark said nothing, jaw clenching.

“You’re wrong.” Bruce told him.

A moment later, he was in the Cave, blinking away flashes of blue.

* * *

“--down to thirty percent renewable. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we live in such an amazing country.” Bruce lifted his champagne glass to the crowd. “To green energy!”

Cameras flashed as the room toasted the ceiling, cheering briefly. Bruce winked once, downing the rest of his champagne. After another round of waving, he hopped off the stage, disappearing into the crowd.  

Across the room, Clark Kent was chatting with another Daily Planet photographer, oblivious to Bruce’s stare.

An assistant grabbed his elbow as he walked towards the foyer, muttering in his ear--something about an afterparty, which was, one, ridiculous for a midday energy announcement, and two, most likely attended by Lex Luthor--but the words blurred together.

Almost like he’d heard the thought, blue eyes found his a moment later. Bruce smiled glibly, heading towards the bathrooms before Clark could catch onto his elevated heart rate.

He checked his bandages in the stall, grimacing as the swollen skin near the stitches pulled. Sighing, he exited and washed his hands, calculating how long he’d have to stay before it was even close to appropriate to leave his own party.

Outside the restroom, an enthusiastic member of the board--Riley? Ray?--caught him by the balcony. The man was taller than Clark, and far wider. He’d played football in school, Bruce recalled. Ohio State, maybe?

“Bruce! How the hell are ya?”

They shook hands. Bruce grimaced as his hand was crushed between the man’s fingers, feeling his whole arm move with the man’s enthusisastic pumping. “Ray,” he guessed. “Thanks so much for coming.”

“What a great announcement. Really, it was just amazing.” the man smiled. He’d gotten it right, then. “You’re doing great work. Keep it up, you hear?”

Bruce smiled, nodding. Ray made a beeline for the horderves table, slapping him on the shoulder as he passed.

His vision whited out as the hit connected inches above the bandages, nearly knocking him over. Pain sliced through his side like a knife, blood rushing from his face as he struggled to remain upright. He grabbed for the railing, feeling a cold sweat break out across his skin.

A cool hand pressed against his hip, a second directing his attention upwards.

“Breathe,” Clark Kent whispered in his ear, angling them against the railing so they were out of sight. “Just breathe, Bruce.”

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the moment--wanted to ask him how he’d known, why he’d even bothered--but he pulled in a desperate breath instead, lungs burning.

“In,” Clark coached softly, breathing with him, “Out. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay,” Bruce gasped. His knuckles were white around the railing. “You can l-let go of me. I’m not going to p-pass out this time.”

When he finally managed to turn around, it was to shocked blue eyes. Bruce decided, suddenly, that the next time he saw those glasses, he was breaking them.

“You knew who I was.” Clark said. Bruce nodded. “And you didn’t say anything?”

He felt Clark’s hand slip away, his eyes closing briefly at the loss.

“Would you have wanted me to?”

When he opened his eyes, Clark was watching him, lips twisted.

“Doesn’t exactly seem fair,” he said, “I didn’t know who you were.”

“I have secrets to keep,” Bruce said, glancing at the ballroom below them. “You know that.”

Clark trailed a hand across Bruce’s side, raising an eyebrow. “Like stab wounds?”

“Like my number.”

The other man frowned, not following. “Your--oh.” He blinked. " _Oh_."

Bruce dug in his pocket, freeing a business card from the tight linen. He slipped it to the reporter, turning back to the balcony.

“Right,” Clark said behind him, after a moment of silence. “I guess this is your way of saying thank you?”

“Get out of here, Kent.”

“Take some painkillers!”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Bruce was grinning as he heard Clark’s footsteps disappear down the hallway, releasing his death grip on the banister. His hip throbbed, a good indicator it was time to wrap things up.

_Definitely time for some painkillers._

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/frownyalfred)!


End file.
